Three Drinks
by Nebulad
Summary: "Yeah, Papa was an elf. You want a drink?" she asked. He smiled at her, inclining his head towards the table. "Are you in the financial position to offer me one?" Fenris asked wryly. She scowled and swatted at him teasingly- she was flirting with him, he realized, and the knowledge made him warm and cold at the same time.


It always took exactly three drinks for Luca to work up the nerve to settle herself on his lap. The ritual of the three drinks may have been purely habitual, though, as the size and contents of the mug made no difference- the only thing that mattered was that she drank three of whatever was in front of her, and then like clockwork she would fall into his lap and play her hand like he couldn't see her cards. It was unsettling at first- _touching _usually implied that he had to touch back, and in a certain way, lest he embarrass Danarius and bring wrath down upon himself- but after it became evident that Luca asked for no more than permission to stay seated, he decided to allow it. He wasn't blind- Hawke was a beautiful woman, with a good head on her shoulders. What was there not to like?

He attempted to suppress the panic edging at the back of his skull. _Any other man in the tavern would have his hand up her shirt too- you can manage her just sitting there._

He was out of the game relatively quickly, having precious little he was willing to hand over to the pirate that night. Hawke usually followed suit, though for some reason she always set aside a pitifully small portion of money for her and Carver to play every week- sometimes Bela was even kind and let the siblings win more than they had brought- but she was on a roll and he was left watching her.

Her hair was dry and platinum blonde, in need of more dye to maintain the colour as her black roots were showing through. Dark brown freckles spilled like water across her skin, the colour of dried earth, and down into the collar of her shirt. Her orange eyes were narrowed as she stared down Isabela, a grin pulling up the edge of her round lips. He traced the edge of her square jaw with his eyes, up to her ears...

Her ears were pointed, tapering ever so slightly upwards at the ends. He frowned. "Hawke," he said, attempting to pull her focus away from the game for a moment.

"Can it wait a second Fen? I'm about to lose my shirt here- maybe literally," she said, her elbows resting on the table and her knees on the bench supporting most of her weight. It always ended like this, with her barely sitting on him but content to hover over him. It usually meant that she was about to either lose or win big and withdraw for the night- either way, she would settle back on him and they would gossip back and forth for a little while before he walked her home.

"You have pointed ears," he said bluntly. She snorted, casting him a quick glance out of the side of her eye before returning to focus on the cards.

"So do you, Handsome," she returned, matching Isabela's raise. Carver hollered across the tavern, standing by the bar with Merrill, trying to balance a fresh round of drinks: _we need to eat this week, sister, pull out before you get burned. _

"Never pull out before the main event, Carver," Bela scolded, her stance just as intense as Hawke's. The younger Hawke went red and groused, reaching over to lift the entire tray for Merrill, who patted his arm in thanks.

"I am an elf," he continued, despite her distractions, "but you are a human."

"Half-human," she corrected, calling when Isabela raised yet again. His eyebrows raised. "Can't tell by looking at me I guess- human genes are awfully strong, even in wispy Marcher nobility- but half of me is elf."

Isabela dropped her winning hand and Hawke threw her cards down in disgust as the pirate hauled in her winnings. She reached back to tug at her hair while Carver sneered, handing Bela and Anders the drinks they'd requested. "Your... father, then, was an elf?" Fenris asked as Hawke settled herself down to pout.

"Yeah, Papa was an elf. You want a drink?" she asked. He smiled at her, inclining his head towards the table.

"Are you in the financial position to offer me one?" he asked wryly. She scowled and swatted at him teasingly- she was flirting with him, he realized, and the knowledge made him warm and cold at the same time.

"You're lucky you're cute Fen. The offer stands if you're done criticizing my Wicked Grace skills?" she scolded, moving to stand up on her own. He followed suit, trailing behind her as she wandered over to the bartender to order more swill.

"Where was he from?" he said as she settled herself down on one of the cleaner stools to wait.

"Who?"

"Your father."

"Oh! Shit, I don't know. He never liked to talk about it, but he'd been to damn near every Circle in Thedas. Sometimes it was because Circles needed new magic and he liked to travel, or because he was trouble and they'd think he'd do better somewhere else. He always told me he'd hopped so many Circles he forgot where he started, but I think he was lying. Never told mother either," she said, drumming her fingers against the table. "We always sort of assumed Rivain, but his accent was Fereldan so it was hard to tell."

Fenris settled himself next to her, close enough that their knees were touching. She grinned and nudged him, which he pointedly ignored. "Is that why your mother's family disowned her?" he asked. Her face fell into irritation as he continued to brush off her flirtations to talk about her parents.

"I don't know, do I? Maybe they did it because she's awful to be around, maybe they did it because she got knocked up by a Fereldan elf apostate. Why is it important?" she asked. He shook his head.

"It isn't," he assured her. "I only... would not have guessed. The way you and Carver speak of the man, he sounds very... human." Fenris didn't know what that meant but the image he'd built in his head of Malcolm Hawke was undeniably human. He also had trouble believing that _Carver _was part of anything smaller than a Qunari.

Hawke snorted. "Well, he wasn't an elf like Merrill or anything. More like you- I mean he looked nothing like you but he worked as a mercenary for most of his life, then a hard-labour farmer. Carver outstripped him in height really fast, but I only managed to get taller... well I wasn't taller than him for very long-" She stopped abruptly, scowling at the floor. Her voice had choked to the point where tears tore at her voice. "Sorry. Give me a second."

"You do not have to continue-," he started but she shook her head.

"Bethy was never- shit _fuck_," she swore, taking the mug that Corf offered her and downing it in one gulp. She handed him three coppers for it then ordered another while Fenris waited to see if she meant to down the second one that had appeared as well. She grabbed it but handed it to him- his drink, as promised. "Anyway the point is that he was hardly an elf mage like you're thinking of. Apostates are built different, they turn out different. We're bigger than proper mages because hard labour is in abundance, so Papa always looked like a big lumbering elf merc, and... and I don't know. He's our dad, he's always going to be bigger than life," she said, turning to face Corf instead of Fenris. She gestured impatiently for her drink, her nails digging scratches into the soft wood of the counter.

"You are not concerned that being part elf will pose a problem for you when you try to recover your mother's estate?" he asked curiously. If he turned the topic to Leandra, Luca would be more angry than she was sad- he knew how to deal with anger better than sadness.

"Not really. I don't plan on sitting on the Viscount's lap for Wicked Grace so he can have a good hard look at my weird ears, and mother's already made it abundantly clear that we shouldn't talk about it. _Everyone knows who I left with, _she said, _they don't need reminding. _It's like she wants me- us, Carver too- to be ashamed," she growled, her thumb nail working furiously to scratch what looked to be a penis into the bar- a sibling to the many dicks Bela had already left there.

"So it is only me that gets the unique pleasure of being used as a chair?" he asked, diving towards the opportunity to change the subject. Luca grinned and looked him up and down in a way that made him profoundly hot but simultaneously uncomfortable. _It is not _her _gaze that upsets you, but the people who looked at you like she is. It is in the past- let it stay there and enjoy the attention, _he scolded himself.

"Only you," she confirmed, taking the drink that Corf finally arrived with.

"You spoil me," he teased, tearing himself away from his almost physical sense of unease to try and gulp down the ale fast enough that he wouldn't taste it. Hawke stood up and made a move to walk by him, but stopped to lean down and kiss his cheek. He almost choked, which made him flush red to the very tips of his ears.

"I'd like to," she said quietly, then tossed coin enough to placate the barkeep onto the table and went to sit next to her brother. Fenris watched as Carver stared down at her in confusion, asking loudly what she was doing. As much as Luca fussed over her brother, she never sat near him during cards- he suspected it was partially because she preferred to waste her energy flirting with him, and partially because Carver was trying to mark his territory in any way possible. She leaned up and said something into his ear- Fenris couldn't see from where he sat if Carver's tapered like Luca's did- and understanding swept over his face. The younger Hawke patted her back, finished his drink, and stood up.

Saying their goodbyes, the siblings left the bar- and when she waved a coy little goodbye to him, still sitting with his drink in his hand, he wondered at the disappointment in his chest as he realized he wouldn't be walking her home.

Not Solas whoops. Sorry. I have Solas stuff but it's being difficult so have some Fenris.

They never say that Malcolm WASN'T an elf so.


End file.
